


We are who we are

by Wishful86



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Character traits, Fill, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not the usual order of things, bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:19:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1537280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishful86/pseuds/Wishful86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a bbc kinkmeme prompt entitled 'Not Your Usual Order'. The full prompt can be found inside because, while brill, it is quite long. </p><p>In summary, it's shaking things up- Aramis is a bit of whimp, Athos just won't wake the hell up, Porthos eats his feelings (mild tw) and d'Artagnan will not shut-up when drunk...</p><p>Hope you enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Full prompt goes thusly:  
> So, let's shake things up ;-) (tiny tw for non-ideal eating habits)
> 
> 1) In most stories, they're all written as stoic when injured... let's have Aramis be an (adorable) whimp with a super-low pain treshold.
> 
> 2) Usually our angsty heroes suffer from insomnia in fics... let's have Athos be near impossible to wake up in the mornings. Regardless of whether he's been drinking or not.
> 
> 3) Equally, skipping meals is a sure fire way for the reader to know that something bad is up with the main character... let's have Porthos grumpily eating his feelings (Though without crossing the border into eating disorder land, please. More like the 1630 equivalent of eating too much ice-cream while watching bad tv.)
> 
> 4) And let's not forget the silent brooding over a drink (or ten)... let's have d'Artagnan be a super-chatty drunk who talks for hours about his heart-aches only to forget all about it by morning.
> 
> (I love reading -- and writing -- fics where they're stoic, sleep poorly and skip meals, etc when upset btw. This is in no way me dissing such yummy h/c!)  
> ......

"Careful," Aramis was pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to breathe steadily, "Careful! It really stings."

d'Artagnan tried to stifle a chuckle but it didn't work.

"Oi!" Aramis dropped his hand and glared at the boy, "You try being stabbed."

If anything, d'Artagnan's chuckles just got stronger, "Stabbed? Its barely a scratch."

Truth be told, although he hadn't been stabbed, it was slightly more than a scratch that now decorated Aramis' side. It would require some stitching. It was caused during a sizeable scurmish just on the outskirts of Paris so they'd stopped at an inn where Porthos was now trying his best to inspect his friend’s wound. Athos had been downstairs sorting out the money with the innkeeper but he soon joined his companions,

"How's the patient?" he asked upon entering the room.

"Over-dramatic" d'Artagnan told him ignoring yet another glare.

Athos in turn ignored the far too gleeful Gascon and instead looked to Porthos.

"Requires a few stitches," Porthos said from his knelt down position next to Aramis.

Aramis sighed and raised his eyes towards the heavens, "Oh fresh hell- I have to let one of you near me with a needle?"

"You don't have to," Porthos shrugged, "We could let you bleed to death."

Athos sent him a look at that comment anticipating what would come and sure enough, Aramis went pale and for a second looked dangerously close to throwing up.

"No. No! You have to do something. I don't want to bleed to death," Aramis all but wailed. This caused d'Artagnan to start laughing again and to tell Aramis not to be stupid; also why would he of all people believe such a thing?

Meanwhile, Athos went to stand by Porthos and leaned forward towards his ear, "Why must you insist on encouraging the theatricals?"

"'Cos its funny." Porthos smirked.

"Hmmm," Athos shook his head slighty although there was amusement dancing in his eyes. It was quite funny. It soon became clear, as they got to know Aramis, that the man did not do stoic. He could cope with any injury so long as it wasn't his own. Show him another man’s blood and he would spring into action but show him his own and...

"Will someone please do something!" Aramis shouted desperately causing Porthos to flinch.

"Easy," Porthos complained, "Nearly burst my eardrum."

"d'Artganan, make yourself useful and get the sewing things ready," Athos ordered the boy before he descended into more giggles. d'Artagnan did as he was asked and retrieved Aramis' kit from a heap of his discarded things on the bed. He looked between Porthos and Athos. 

"I'll do it," Athos said reaching out. 

"Yes, yes," Aramis nodded solemnly, "that is the lesser of two evils."

Although he knew Aramis was right, Porthos still protested by smacking the man on the arm before standing.

"Ow!" Aramis said, sending Porthos a look that would rival a wounded puppy.

Athos rolled his eyes as he sank down to his knees in the space left by Porthos.

"Now, do we need to knock you out?" Athos asked the patient with a pointed stare.

Aramis' eyes went wide, "It won't hurt that much will it?"

d'Artagnan snorted and then plopped himself down on the other side of Aramis taking his hand, "You'll be fine."

Porthos saw the way Aramis visibly calmed and sent an approving nod towards the boy. d'Artagnan just grinned wickedly and both Porthos and Athos knew he planned to not let Aramis forget this moment in future.

....20 minutes later....

"I think he broke my hand," d'Artagnan whined, "Honestly, I think one of you needs to take a look at it. It really hurts."

Athos and Porthos definitely needed a drink.


	2. Chapter 2

“Ow. Ow.” Aramis winced as he fixed his belt in position, “Ow.”

Porthos huffed as he put on his boots, “I've asked you this before but, honestly, how the hell have you made it this far?”

Aramis furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”

“You?!” Porthos exclaimed, “With the whole ‘can’t cope with my own injuries’? 

“Yeah,” d’Artagnan joined in, “Didn’t you get shot once?”

Aramis nearly turned green at the memory, “Urgh, don’t remind me.”

“You’re something else,” Porthos shook his head. 

“Hey! Just because I feel pain more than you insensitive brutes.”

“Oh we feel pain,” Porthos told him, “We feel a really big pain. In the neck. I wonder what or rather who that could be?”

Before Aramis had the chance to retort, a loud snore came from the other side of the room.

“How is he still asleep?” d’Artagnan asked gesturing towards the bed Athos occupied. 

“He’s always been like this,” Porthos replied, “Could sleep on a washing line could Athos”

“Perhaps you should try waking him?” Aramis suggested.

d’Artagnan nodded and made his way over to the older man. Porthos just looked at Aramis with raised eyebrows. “You know it won’t work?” he said quietly. 

“I know,” Aramis shrugged, “But at least he’ll know why Athos always takes first watch duty.”

“Fair enough,” Porthos said as he turned to watch the inevitable show. 

d’Artagnan had begun with the tried and tested method of gently shaking the shoulder and whispering the person’s name. Finding this wasn't working with Athos, he got rougher with the shaking and louder with his voice. There was still no sign of the man waking. d’Artagnan sighed and then decided on trying a not too gentle whack on the shoulder. He thought for a second that this had worked when Athos moved onto his back and blinked a few times but unfortunately the man continued to roll onto his other side.

“This is ridiculous,” the boy mumbled at the sleeping man, “I mean you’re not even hung-over.”

Although, d’Artagnan could now hear his friends chuckling in the background, he wasn't one to give up easily so he knelt up on the bed. Carefully, he hooked an arm under Athos and tried to haul him into a sitting position. Half way up, however, Athos merely flopped sideways with his head landing on d’Artagnan’s lap.  
D’Artagnan threw his arms up in frustration. “Right, you’re going to have to help,” he told Aramis and Porthos. 

Aramis glanced at Porthos with a glint in his eye, “Athos would hate it if we were late to Paris.”

“He would,” Porthos agreed knowingly. He walked to the window and lent out to take a look around. He then turned and nodded at Aramis. 

Aramis had reached for his pistol. “What a waste of a shot,” he said as he fired through the open window. 

Immediately after the bang sounded, Aramis and Porthos began to shout. 

“Ambush!”

“Attack!”

“Protect the King!”

d’Artagnan barely had time to be stunned by their actions as suddenly Athos was leaping to his feet and grabbing for a sword that wasn't there. If it wasn't for the fact that he was still dressed in his under things, it would be hard to believe the man had been asleep only seconds before. 

Aramis ignored the way Athos’ expression turned thunderous as he realized what had occurred and instead handed him a bucket of water he had collected.“That was your wake-up call and it comes with complimentary water,” he said with barely concealed glee.

“I hate you,” Athos growled. 

Undeterred, Aramis wrapped an arm around the man’s shoulder, “There, there. Now dunk your head and we can be on our way.”

“You wouldn’t want to be late,” Porthos laughed throwing his jacket towards him. 

Porthos soon lost his smile when Athos made him explain their behavior to an irate innkeeper and when he elbowed Aramis in his wounded side later in the day, it was definitely an accident.

...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Bit of swearing in this one. But you can hardly blame Porthos.

The moment Athos saw Porthos coming out of the garrison kitchens with a bowl full of chicken legs, he had sent d’Artagnan to find Aramis. 

“d’Artganan, is there a reason you are fidgeting in my door way?” Treville asked the young man who had been hovering for a while. D’Artagnan had been waiting for the conversation between his captain and Aramis to finish but apparently he had been spotted and now both men were looking at him with raised brows.

“Er...I...Athos sent me for Aramis?” d’Artagnan answered, “He said to say ‘Porthos has a bowl full of chicken’.”

“Oh hell,” Aramis’ shoulders dropped and his head turned heaven wards. Treville began to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Well, I’m not getting any work out of you for the rest of the day,” Treville sighed. Aramis looked at him somewhat apologetically but Treville just gestured to the door, “Go. See to Porthos.”

“Thank you,” Aramis said as he made his way to the door and hustled d’Artagnan into moving back down into the yard. 

In the yard, Athos was watching with folded arms and a weary expression as Porthos wolfed down another chicken leg. d’Artagnan sat down next to Porthos but did not say a word. Aramis, however, slid into the space beside Athos directly opposite Porthos and whispered to the former, “Has he said anything?”

Athos shook his head. Aramis took a breath and then reached across the table and gently started pulling the bowl of chicken away. Porthos growled and tried to stop it but when he looked up properly and saw Aramis with his all too caring eyes, he gave up the fight. 

“Right then,” Aramis said as he moved the relinquished bowl as far out of reach as possible, “You want to talk?”

Porthos dropped his head again. D’Artagnan didn’t think he had ever seen the man look so forlorn. It was quite unsettling. 

Aramis, however, had dealt with similar before only this time he did feel a little under informed, “I didn’t know you were seeing someone?”

Porthos’ head snapped up then, “I’m not.”

That threw Aramis off slightly, “Then, forgive me but-“

“It’s Alice,” Porthos interrupted. 

“I thought Alice-“ d’Artagnan began but Athos stopped him with a sharp glare. The Gascon was about to protest but then he saw the way Aramis was looking at Porthos. He was waiting like he knew Porthos would open up but only in his own time. Sure enough, a few moments later.

“I saw her,” Porthos huffed, “I saw her coming out of the church. With a red guard. Kissing.” 

Once again, Athos had to halt d’Artagnan from reacting, with a glare. There was only really one person who could handle Porthos in this situation and he was reaching across to put a hand on Porthos’ arm but he still did not speak. Aramis knew this was all about the listening for now. 

“A red guard,” Porthos mumbled and then suddenly he banged a fist hard onto to the table, “A fucking red guard!” The venom and force at which Porthos acted made d’Artganan instinctively move back slightly and even Athos unfolded his arms and raised a brow. 

Aramis didn’t flinch, he merely reached across to the bowl he had moved earlier and handed Porthos a chicken leg. Porthos grabbed it and munched straight in. 

“Ok?” Aramis asked when he had finished. 

“Yeah,” Porthos nodded solemnly, “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Aramis told him firmly grabbing both of the man’s hands and making him look at him, “You hear me.”

“I want to kill that red guard.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do. I want to ring his scrawny fucking little neck.”

“No you don’t.”

Porthos stopped before responding to Aramis again and glared at him. For a few seconds he hated that all he saw back in his friend’s eyes was a true deep understanding of why he was really hurting so much and then he felt relieved. He wouldn’t have to admit it out loud. He wouldn’t have to say that he felt Alice had betrayed him. That when he saw her that afternoon, it felt like someone had reached into his chest, pulled his heart out and then proceeded to trample over it with the might of a hundred horses. His friend just knew. 

Porthos squeezed the hands that had hold of his and Aramis smiled slightly understanding once again. 

d’Artagnan had watched the whole exchange with puzzlement but Athos could read the men as well as they could read each other so he joined the conversation with a question, 

“Shall we get drunk?”

Aramis and Porthos both laughed at that. 

“Definitely,” Porthos agreed. As they began to walk away from the table, he said to Aramis, “I still want to kill that guard.”

“Oh, I know. I’ll help you bury the body.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've reached the end. Thank you to the prompter- I had fun writing this. Thanks to all for the kudos and comments. I leave you with d'Artagnan...

When they arrived at the tavern, they all crowded round Athos’ usual table in the corner because this was a night of collective brooding. Aramis didn’t need to but he would show solidarity with Porthos regardless. However, it soon became clear that their youngest companion hadn’t got the brooding memo; the one that stated ‘Musketeers brood deeply and in silence.’

“...and she just left. Just like that. Can you believe it?” d’Artagnan had been wittering on for half an hour now. He was remarkably clear spoke considering how much he had drunk. This was a fact that Athos, Aramis and Porthos may consider later because, right now, they were all thinking of varying ways of getting him to stop talking. 

“..but then the new neighbour moved in and she was...” d’Artganan continued oblivious. 

Porthos groaned and lent over to Aramis, “Will you help me bury his body?”

Aramis snorted lightly but looking across at Porthos and Athos made him realise he should probably take action. D’Artganan risked death from Athos’ demeanour alone. He scanned the room and his eyes settled on a particular serving girl, Marie. Marie had a thing for his young friend. 

“d’Artganan. D’Artagnan!” Aramis tried and failed to butt in but the boy didn’t seem to notice. “Ok,” the older man sighed and stood. He hooked his free hand under d’Artagnan’s armpit and pulled him up. His other hand firmly held his drink. If the plan he was forming failed, he may need it. 

“Hey. Hey!” d’Artganan protested as he tried and failed to keep his drinking hand steady. Wine sloshed all over the table. 

Aramis shrugged, “You’ve probably had enough anyway.” He watched the boy frown and more worryingly sway; he may have been able to string a sentence together but there was no denying he was drunk. 

Aramis guided him away from the table and then glanced back at his friends who both raised a glass in thanks. 

“You know Porthos should forget Alice. She wasn’t good enough for him,” d’Artagnan started up again loudly. Aramis wasn’t listening as he pushed the boy forward to another table. The quicker his plan was executed the better. 

“What are you doing?” d’Artagnan asked as Aramis pulled up a chair and shoved him into it. 

“You’ll see,” Aramis replied as he sat down in a chair opposite. He’d managed to catch the eye of Marie and had gestured for her to come over. 

“I knew an Alice once,” d’Artganan sighed dramatically, “I loved her.”

“Oh yeah,” Aramis took a swig of wine and focussed back on his young friend. 

“Yeah, she was beautiful. I took her out a lot. Bought her treats. I really did love her. Of course, I had to shovel her shit-“

Aramis spluttered at that. “What?” he exclaimed as he wiped drops of drink from his beard. 

d’Artganan narrowed his eyes, “I looked after her so that meant-“

“Please tell me we’re not talking about a woman?”

D’Artganan looked at Aramis like he was stupid, “No, Alice was a horse.”

If Marie wasn’t close to arriving at the table, Aramis could have given d’Artagnan a slap to rival one of Constance’s as the Gascon proceeded to burst into a fit a laugher. As it was, he did give him a swift kick under the table because Aramis did not want the boy looking happy. Instantly d’Artganan’s face dropped as he reached to clutch his leg. 

“Marie, lovely to see you,” Aramis said turning on the charm as she came to stand by them. Marie blushed despite herself. 

“Can I get you anything?” she asked. 

Aramis gestured for her to move nearer so she bent forward, “My friend needs cheering up.”

Marie glanced across the table at d’Artganan. He had sat back up but still held the perfect pained expression from the kick. Aramis was slightly proud of himself.  
“Aw, what’s happened?” 

Aramis shrugged, “I don’t know. Perhaps you could try talking to him?” 

“I could try,” the girl smiled and Aramis knew his plan was working. He vacated his chair so Marie could sit down. 

D’Artagnan noticed and looked at Aramis questioningly. Aramis leaned over to whisper in his ear, “I think she likes you.”

D’Artganan’s eyes sparkled and he smirked, “Oh. Right.”

Aramis took one last look between them, smiled and then turned to rejoin his brooding friends. He could hear d’Artagnan waffling on again all the way back. Once he reached Porthos and Athos, he said “Let’s go to my place, quickly.”

...

The next morning, Athos, Porthos and Aramis shared a look before they crowded round d’Artagnan at the table. The boy was slumped in his seat with his head in his hands. 

“Good Morning!” Aramis said loudly. 

D’Artganan flinched and narrowed his eyes. “Is it?” he mumbled.

“Come on,” Athos said, “It’s not that bad.”

“Yeah besides, we want to hear all about Marie,” Porthos nudged the boy causing him to groan.

Aramis smirked, “I’m famed for my matchmaking skills; was I successful?”

All they got in return was another groan and he moved his hands to his ears. 

Athos removed one of them, “Are you going to tell us?” he asked.

D’Artagnan sighed heavily and glared at his so-called friends, “What’s with the questions? Can this not be quiet time?”

Aramis shook his head, “Quiet time was last night.”

Porthos nodded, “You’ve chosen to learn the hard way.”

“Again,” Athos added.

D’Artganan sighed and closed his eyes, “I hate you all.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Aramis pretended to be wounded.

“Now, tell us about Marie?” Porthos asked again.

“Did you tell her about Janette who left when you were 16?”

“Did you let her know about the neighbour who trampled on your dreams?

“Did you tell her about the love of your life; Alice the horse?”

D’Artganan glanced at them all in turn with an expression of horror as the night before flashed back into memory. When his head hit the table with a thump, his friends toasted to a job well done. 

...


End file.
